


Besotted

by Viscariafields



Series: Puppy Love [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: Drunk Sex, Established Relationship, F/M, PWP, Shameless Smut, drunk horny idiots, light exhibitionism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:55:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23811937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Viscariafields/pseuds/Viscariafields
Summary: Bethany finds herself accidentally drunk while attending a party with King Alistair. Alistair finds Bethany a little handsy. Eventually they find a closet.Look, it's smut. They are somewhat drunk and deeply in love and very horny.
Relationships: Alistair/Bethany Hawke
Series: Puppy Love [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1715638
Comments: 7
Kudos: 28





	Besotted

Bethany had forgotten to eat lunch.

This wasn’t usually a concern. The hunger of the Wardens always caught up to her sooner or later, and she found her way to the palace kitchens and ate whatever was easy to grab. Sometimes she found Alistair there, the same hunger overcoming them both, and they laughed as they raided the storerooms for cheese and bread and fruit between meals.

Today she had been organizing her new workroom. She had sent out for books and glassware and all sorts of magical items, and the deliveries kept trickling in. Time got away from her. She missed lunch.

And this wouldn’t have been notable at all had she not been attending a dinner that evening with a score of minor lords and knights and whoever else, and if she hadn’t the usual cup of wine she had before these events to calm her nerves, and if the event itself hadn’t started with half a dozen toasts to all the esteemed guests. But that’s exactly what happened, and Bethany hadn’t had anything to eat since a bit of bread at breakfast.

Bethany was drunk.

It hit her hard and fast, like a shriek in the Roads, and she held on to Alistair’s arm for balance and also because she loved it. Maker, it was such a good arm, sturdy and strong and freckled, and she was so lucky to have it tonight. Alistair gave her a funny look, a smile with a question behind it, and she smiled back at him.

“And of course, this is our Grey Warden liaison, Warden Hawke,” he said, introducing her to Lord Whoever.

She held out her hand and gave an overly warm greeting to a man whose name she forgot the instant it was said. “And aren’t you wearing the most charming ribbons in your doublet?” she asked him, “Tell me, what is that color called?” He was happy enough to tell her, and the name of his shoemaker when she commented on how darling his were, and then Alistair was leading her away.

“Somebody, and I’m not naming names, seems a little drunk.”

“You should name names,” she sighed, “I like it when you say my name.” He laughed, his cheeks pinking a little. Her own were very hot, probably flaming red, really. “Do you think everyone noticed?”

“Not everyone. Not yet.”

Her face fell. Oh, she was making a fool of herself and she didn’t know how to stop it.

“What happened?” he asked her, all but shoving her into her chair. She leaned her head back and looked up at him.

“I forgot to eat. And I forgot that I forgot to eat.”

“Lunch? Afternoon tea?” Bethany shook her head. “Elevensies? Breakfast? Second breakfast?”

All nos. He tsked at her, sitting down in his much grander chair next to hers. “I had toast and jam when we woke up,” she told him.

“Maker’s breath. Alright. I can solve this. Nobody notices other drunk people when they, themselves, are hammered. You take this cup which is full of water and pretend it’s wine, and for Andraste’s sake, eat something, and I’ll get them all toasting again.” 

He was so thoughtful. Kind-hearted and smart and he thought he was a bad leader but that was only because he cared and reflected and was humble when other people were prideful. And he was so handsome. Just unfairly handsome. She wasn’t sure why it was unfair that he was so handsome, but she knew it to be true in her heart.

He held out a piece of bread to her, but she was just staring at his freckles. “Bethany,” he said with a quick shake of the head, “Please eat this.”

And she knew she should do whatever he was asking, and she would, probably, in a minute. But eating sounded like work and right now she was busy admiring him. So he held a small hunk of bread in front of her mouth, feeding her if she wouldn’t do it herself, and she took it with all the delicacy she could muster, letting her lips close around his fingertips. A moment’s hesitation and he pulled back like he had been burned.

“Right,” he said, clearing his throat, “Right Alistair. Time to get everyone tanked.” He looked at her out of the corner of his eye and cleared his throat again. “As quickly as possible.”

Bethany didn’t really listen to what Alistair said to them all, but she raised her glass a lot and only spilled water on herself a couple times. When Alistair glared at her she ate some food to make him happy. She truly did want to make him happy. There was probably nothing she wanted more.

~

Alistair had not entirely thought his plan through. Getting everyone toasting and pledging their loyalty to each other was a _good_ plan, it was. Voices were getting louder, tongues were getting looser, and there was an overall air of joviality. Nobody noticed Bethany profusely complimenting anyone in range or the way she rested her head on her shoulder to smile at him sideways or that she missed her mouth with her cup of water _twice_.

The problem, he pinpointed with the accuracy of a broken trebuchet, was that he also had to partake of each toast he encouraged among his guests. So while he tried to hide that Bethany was sauced, he, himself, was getting drunker by the minute.

The other problem, which, he thought in a sort of warm and hazy way, wasn’t really that much of a problem, was that Bethany was handsy. Even sober, she liked to hold onto his arm or hold his hand. She often fell asleep against his shoulder. He liked that about her. But drunk-Bethany couldn’t stop fiddling. She took his hand under the table and played with each of his fingers. She unbuttoned and attempted to rebutton his sleeve. When he pulled his arm away to fix it, she trailed her hand up and down the outside of his leg. It didn’t seem purposefully arousing, and yet it had his full attention.

When he turned to scold her, she tilted her head and gave him a lopsided smile while her hand gave his thigh a squeeze. He couldn’t quite tell if she was teasing him or just being her good and sweet self. He wasn’t sure which he wanted. He supposed there were ways to find out.

“Have you had enough to eat?” he asked her with more than just friendly concern.

She shifted in her chair to move a little closer to him. “You know me. Always just a little hungry. Never quite satisfied.”

He probably had his answer there. Sobered up enough to be flirty, not enough to resist teasing him under the table. He couldn’t resist pushing a little further. “Then allow me,” he replied, holding a grape up to her lips. She allowed him to feed it to her, fire in her eyes, and this time when she caught his fingers with her lips, she ran her tongue across them. Maker, his entire body responded to that, every nerve lit up. She knew it, too, by the heated look she gave him, and Alistair had never thought he’d be so turned on watching another person _chew_ of all things. He shivered as he pulled away, desperate to lick the sweetness off her mouth, and a moment later his hand was resting under the table on her thigh.

He was about to make some very poorly thought out decisions.

~~

Bethany had sobered up enough to notice the rosiness of Alistair’s cheeks and the slow deliberation of his words. She was still drunk enough that when his hand gripped her thigh, all she thought was, _yes_ , that is exactly where she wanted his hand. Well, not exactly, but close enough. He kept it there while he talked to others, accepted toasts in his honor, ate a bit of pie. And while at first it was just a gentle touch, soon he started to caress.

Bethany tried not to squirm in her seat. He applied pressure, then eased it. Traced a slow circle on her inner thigh. It was lucky that she was irrelevant at this particular gathering, because she didn’t know if she’d be able to hold any sort of conversation. All she could think about was what his hand was doing and what it might do next. His fingers drifted toward her knee, and then up, inching their way toward the apex where her thighs met.

Bethany swallowed a gasp.

And it was _so unfair_. She was on his left, so he could easily hide a hand under the table while still sipping on wine and looking smug like nothing was happening, but she would have a much harder time doing the same to him. She found herself pressing her legs together, whether to stop him or increase the pressure she wasn’t sure, and he gently coaxed her to relax them again, ease them apart. Then, while not even looking at her, he cupped her sex, pushing a finger against her Warden leathers and tracing it up and down. Bethany clenched her fist on the table, putting all her focus into keeping her face neutral and not accidentally setting something on fire. She did not want him to stop, Maker, it would be a crime for him to stop, but this was untenable.

She shocked him.

Just a little touch of lightning at his elbow. He jerked his hand away, banging it on the table and laughing as he rubbed the spot. And even that, watching him rub his own elbow in slow circles, Bethany now found terribly erotic. He caught her looking and with a small quirk of his eyebrows shifted his hand, now just two fingers slowly rubbing in tight circles over the spot where she shocked him, and she knew it was on purpose.

She stood up.

She wasn’t sure what her goal was in standing up, but she did it a little too fast and had to grip the table for a second as her blood caught up to her brain. Alistair was grinning at her, the big, handsome git. “Is all well, Warden Hawke? You look a little flushed.”

“I could use some fresh air,” she replied slowly, “But perhaps, given my unsteadiness, I need an escort. Are you up to the task? I would hate to put you out.”

He tried not to laugh and failed, turning his head to the side to grin. “I believe I can be of service to you.”

 _You better be_ , Bethany thought. If he moved any more slowly, she might just throw him up against a wall here. Or take him in his grand chair, straddling him in front of everyone. Her cheeks flamed at the thought, in shame but maybe with the smallest bit of intrigue. Maker, what was she even thinking? When had her mind turned to such filth? 

When Alistair had finally stood up, his carefulness belying the drunkenness he was trying to hide, he gallantly offered up his arm. Bethany took it, a little breathless with her own thoughts, though she couldn’t clearly tell who was balancing who.

The moment they were out of the grand hall she was on him. Alistair chuckled deep in his throat at her eagerness, but only for a moment, because she had her tongue in his mouth and her hand on his belt, and she was ready to repay him for his cheekiness. They crashed into the stone wall of the hallway, Alistair’s back hitting with a gentle _whumph_ , and Bethany was all greedy hands and mouth. Alistair had lit this fire, and Bethany had no intention of controlling it.

“Don’t make me be the voice of reason,” he growled, nipping at her ear, “I— _mmph—_ ” He groaned as she stroked him through his trousers, “We will be found here.”

“Oh, but it was fine when you tortured me in front of everyone?” Bethany retorted, undoing the top buttons of his shirt so she could expose more skin. She dragged her lips and teeth across his collarbone, his neck, his jaw. At this moment, she couldn’t care less if they were seen. Let all of Ferelden see this ridiculous man undone by her. For a moment the scene flashed before her eyes, Bethany back in the hall again in front of everyone, this time Alistair naked from head to toe, all eyes on her as she sank her mouth over his cock and worked him with hand and tongue. She again flushed with embarrassment at the thought, and perhaps something that wasn’t quite embarrassment. She wasn’t sure which was worse—that she’d had such a thought, twice, or that she was _excited_ by it. Maker’s breath, he was right, they were in a _hallway_. What was Bethany _thinking_?

Her hand paused in her ministrations, and Alistair took the opportunity to flip them around, Bethany’s front pressed against the wall with Alistair behind her, pinning her there gently but firmly. He swept her hair away from her neck, planting a kiss just behind her ear before murmuring, “Your king commands you to go to your room.” He followed with a light pat on her behind.

She wriggled in his grasp, back arching until she could feel his hard cock pressing into her ass. He hissed against her ear, and she began to rub against him slowly and rhythmically. His hands dropped to her waist, but he made no attempt to stop her. “I’m a Warden,” she retorted, “I don’t heed the command of kings.”

Each time she pressed back into him, he pushed back, hips thrusting against her, his head dropping onto her shoulder as he made quiet sounds of frustration and want. “Bethany,” he pled, his hand sweeping over her belly, creeping up to cup her breast. She wasn’t even sure what he was begging her for anymore, but she kept rubbing against him, now moving in tight circles against the hard press of his cock, relishing the strangled noises coming from behind her. His fingers fumbled over the fabric of her clothing to brush across her nipple, hardened and overly sensitive, and she gasped. It was too harsh a sound for this corridor. Maker, she needed him now and she couldn’t have him here.

“ _Fuck_ ,” she said, swallowing hard and pushing Alistair off her. He stared at her with lust-drunk eyes, his clothes askew, mouth parted as he panted for breath, pants overly tight and not hiding enough. Bethany laughed, wondering if she looked half a mess, then grabbed his hand and pulled him down the hall. Not to either of their rooms, they were too far, and if anyone saw them like this—she bit her lip in a smile—but here, a closet. She shoved him in and shut the door behind her.

It was difficult to unbutton the rest of his shirt with his mouth on her ear. “Ali,” she complained, but he took it as encouragement, a hand on her thigh, spreading her legs around his hips. She gave up on the shirt when he picked her up and set her on a barrel, her ankles locking behind him.

Maker, they were still fully clothed, and he was _rutting_ against her. And despite how foolish this all was, it felt _good_. So good she could scarcely force herself to pull away from the heavenly friction he was building between her legs and get her blasted pants off. She kicked her boots off with her legs still wrapped around him, but progress was stalled when Alistair ran his hands up her sides, then massaged her breasts until his thumbs found her nipples through the fabric of her shirt. Bethany’s mind went blank, his hot breath on her neck, his heat between her legs, his fingers shooting sparks straight through her to her groin.

“Ali,” she tried again, when she could breathe, “Help me.”

He reluctantly allowed her to remove her legs from his waist, her fingers fumbling over the laces before he tugged her leathers and smalls off. He smirked as he tossed them somewhere behind him, nudging Bethany’s legs apart again, pleased with what he could see in the dim light of the closet. Bethany flushed, unused to being so on display like this, and hooked her ankle around him to pull him stumbling closer.

“She’s in such a hurry,” he teased, pressing a kiss to her lips and a finger to her folds. He moaned at how wet he found her, sliding a finger in with ease.

“So don’t keep me waiting,” she said against his lips, reaching for his belt. She didn’t bother undressing him at all. Belt undone, laces untied, she shoved his trousers down just enough to free his erection. _At last_ , she thought, pulling him closer once again to capture his mouth, his hard length pressed between them. With a shaky breath, Alistair guided himself into her, slowly, too slowly for Bethany who keened and begged. Once in, he rocked against her experimentally, and she grasped for the shelf next to her, items tumbling to the floor. “Please,” she begged—Maker she’d never begged in her _life_ —and he began to thrust in earnest.

After all the teasing Bethany had endured, her pleasure was already a tense coil ready to spring. With only a few deep thrusts, she was cresting, the wave of pleasure overwhelming her as quickly as the drink had. She moaned sharply as the tension shattered, pleasure scattering through her limbs as she crumpled against Alistair. He coaxed her through, holding her in his large arms, and when she settled, he stopped moving. Bethany blinked at him in confusion, knowing he couldn’t possibly be finished, she would have _noticed,_ and he kissed her, pulling himself out of her. Bethany swallowed a whine, not content to lose the feeling of him, but he pulled away all together, smiling. Cheeky. 

“Turn around,” he ordered. 

Bethany huffed, but she did as she was told, leaning over the barrel that had served as her seat. It was a reenactment of their position in the hall: Bethany, back arched, Alistair behind her, cock pressed firmly against her ass. “Good girl,” he said, and before she could make any sort of retort, he had buried himself in her, as deeply as he could go.

Bethany as surprised by the volume of her own moaning. The new angle had her blood rising again, instantly and powerfully. Alistair held himself there, deep inside her, one hand on her hip to guide him, one on her sternum, holding her to him. The hand on her hip crept down, around, brushing the short curly hair aside, and found the bundle of nerves that was singing to her. With two fingers he stroked, smooth circles like the ones he taunted her with at supper, and Bethany could barely breathe as her pleasure roared to life. She was whimpering, his cock thrust deep inside of her while he stroked. She still tried to thrust back into him, writhing without direction while Alistair whispered praises in her ear. She could tell he was trying to hold himself still, but he made tiny movements to the rhythm of his slow circles. His hips jerked the smallest bit, and Bethany was filled with him, and overpowered by him, and when he increased his pressure, she came again with a guttural cry.

She would have collapsed, her muscles useless jelly, had he not been holding her. “So good, Beth,” he praised her, “Maker, you’re so good,” and he pulled himself almost all the way out and buried himself in her again. Her breasts heaved with each pump of his hips, her hands bracing herself against the wall. The heat began to build up inside of her again. _Not possible,_ she thought, as Alistair groaned with his effort. He started slow, but his patience was spent, and it didn’t last. He was holding her hips, slamming into her, more things falling from the shelves around them. _If I come again, I’ll die,_ she thought as Alistair mumbled her name over and over like a prayer. He was thrusting fast and hard, and when Bethany felt her pleasure cresting for the third time that night, she decided there were worse ways to go. She had no control here, nothing to hold onto, nothing to stop her from falling off the edge and shattering into pieces. Alistair caught her before she collapsed, though his rhythm had grown erratic and his breaths shallow. She was vaguely aware of his orgasm through the haze still left by her own, the way he called her name, the feeling of his seed inside of her. They both collapsed over the barrel when it was done, his face pressed to her back, her shirt now soaked with sweat.

Crushed as she was, she still regretted it when he pulled himself off her, somehow still wanting to touch him, still wanting a little more. Always a little bashful after sex, Alistair pulled a hanky out of a pocket and offered it to her. “Not how I thought I would be using that,” he said, running his hand through his hair and moving to collect her clothes for her. “Not how I thought this evening would go.” He made to kiss her as he passed them to her, and she threw her arms around his neck, pulling him closer. “I love you,” he sighed, “But I think it’s time we got out of this closet before we break _everything_ in it.”

He went to the door, waiting for her to clean up and dress. A misery, trying to put her leathers back on after what he just did to her. She needed a bath, and to sleep, and to hold Alistair forever, and probably to go to the chantry and pray for forgiveness for what had just occurred.

Alistair opened the door a crack, peering into the hallway to see if the coast was clear while Bethany stood behind him in the wreckage of what they had done.

Sense was returning to her now, and it occurred to her that after all that she was completely sober and completely embarrassed. She had just fucked the King of Ferelden in a closet. After being fondled by him at dinner. After necking him in a hallway. She was… She had just…

“I’m a harlot,” she said out loud.

Alistair made a choking sound and closed the door. “I’m sorry, what?”

“A harlot,” she said again. “A… a… a tart!”

“A strumpet?” Alistair suggested. Bethany’s jaw dropped in hurt indignation, but he chuckled to himself and straightened her shirt for her. Brushing off her shoulder, he said, “I will not have you slander my queen.”

“Queens don’t… they don’t do what we just did where we just did it.”

He chuckled, obviously not at all sharing her concern. He brought her gaze up to his with a finger under her chin. “I think the Queen can do whatever she wants wherever she wants in her palace. Particularly and preferably if she does it with me.” Bethany almost smiled, the sudden knot in her stomach loosening. He had such an effect on her, made it so easy to forget the world and everything in it. “Don’t tell me you didn’t have a good time,” he teased, a hand on her hip. He had her there. She grinned.

“Maker, that was—” Bethany did not have the words to describe what that was.

“I know.” Alistair laughed again, smug, happy. Bethany dropped her face into his chest and enjoyed it, even if it seemed wrong to be this happy and this ridiculous. “Besides. It’s not like we’re in a chantry closet. Now that might be something to ask forgiveness for.”

Bethany flushed with the thought of it, the smallest desire heating her blood again. _No,_ she scolded herself. _Not tonight, anyway_. Alistair quirked an eyebrow at her, and together they snuck through their palace to his quarters.

**Author's Note:**

> Is Bethany his secret wife? Is she his public wife but he still introduces her as a Warden? Does he just call her queen because that's what is in his heart? Idk.


End file.
